


What It Means to Heal

by fallintosanity (yopumpkinhead)



Series: A Bridge Once Broken [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies), Wakfu
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, References to Torture, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yopumpkinhead/pseuds/fallintosanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki first returned to the Nine Realms after his imprisonment with the Chitauri, he had plenty of things to keep him occupied. Like trying to kill Thor, rebuilding the Infinity Gauntlet, and making sure Thanos regretted ever daring to lay a hand on him. </p><p>Now the Infinity War is over, and for the first time in a long while, Loki is truly free to do what he wants. But the chains of torture, sacrifice, and a lifetime of shame are not easily broken, and even the peace of the World of Twelve might not be enough to save him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Means to Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the warnings - Loki goes to some very dark headspaces in this fic.

Loki lasted almost four months.

In the beginning, the novelty and the stimulation had been interesting, engaging; had kept back the darkness behind the broken pieces of his soul. There were new people to meet, layers of relationships to parse, subtleties of politics to tease out. Thor had always said that Loki’s mind was hungrier than any serpent; that if he did not constantly feed it, it would devour itself. And Loki had always been inclined to agree with him.

But now the void lurked in his mind, and that empty nothingness consumed everything, until he had nothing left save its darkness and pain.

After leaving Asgard, Loki and the Eliatrope Jahanna and her dragon brother Tikalukatal had traveled to the World of Twelve, the last home of the Eliatrope people and the world where they would be reborn. There, they made their way to the Sadida Kingdom, where the Eliatrope boy-king Yugo lived with his family and shield companions. Yugo was a sturdy, towheaded child on the cusp of manhood, with stormcloud-grey eyes and a bright blue fox-eared Eliatrope hat. He had been wary of them, at first – and it was no wonder, considering what he’d suffered at the hands of Qilby the Traitor. But Jahanna was calm and gentle, and Tikalukatal was solemn and respectful, and the ancient green dragon Phaeris, one of the last survivors of the Eliatropes’ fall, had looked upon them and declared their souls clean of the evil borne by Qilby after his descent into madness.

(Phaeris had looked longer at Loki, and in a voice only Loki could hear, had said, _you have been gravely wounded. May this land heal you as it healed us, so long ago._ )

After that, Yugo had welcomed them with open arms and the generous spirit which Loki was only accustomed to seeing in Thor. Yugo’s brother Adamaї, a white dragon not yet grown bigger than he, was more reserved; but Loki soon realized that it was simply his nature, a thoughtful counterpart to Yugo’s exuberance. Yugo’s adoptive father was a broad-shouldered, long-mustached human named Alibert, and the first thing he’d said after being introduced to Loki was, “You’re far too skinny, my boy. Don’t bother with that grass the Sadida eat – come by my kitchen for some real food!” Alibert had enough heart for the world: he had already raised Yugo, and now he cared for the infant Chibi and his dragon brother Grougaloragran, the newest reborn members of the Eliatrope Council. And if the obvious love Alibert held for his adoptive sons stabbed into the broken places in Loki’s heart, he couldn’t find it in himself to resent them for it.

The Sadida Kingdom, a peaceful land in the middle of a vast green forest, reminded Loki of nothing so much as the forests of Vanaheim. Trees as tall as Aesir towers supported elaborate homes and other structures, half-built and half-grown, connected by leafy walkways and broad wooden plazas that creaked and swayed gently underfoot. It had taken Loki some time to get used to, accustomed as he was to solid, grandiose Aesir architecture, but he couldn’t deny that it held a certain rustic charm.

The Sadida themselves were a strange people to Loki’s eyes, with skin the varying browns of tree bark and hair as green as the leaves, their clothing simple and often only barely meeting Aesir standards of modesty. They eschewed shoes entirely, and decorated themselves with flowers and plants and sticks in place of precious metals and jewels. Even stranger, Sadida men had faces as hairy as any hound, no skin visible beneath the green of their hair; and like dwarves, they grew their facial hair long and tied it into elaborate knots and stylings beneath their chins.

The Sadida King Sheran Sharm was a huge tree-trunk of a man, taller and broader even than Thor or Odin, with a bright smile that flashed behind the green of his hair, a booming laugh, and unexpectedly shrewd eyes. His son and heir Armand was more staid, taking the duty of crown prince with far more seriousness than Thor had ever shown. His young daughter Amalia was one of Yugo’s shield companions, and it was under her patronage that Yugo and his friends had settled in the Sadida Kingdom. (Loki also suspected the king was trying to encourage his daughter’s fondness for Yugo, since a love match between the Sadida princess and the Eliatrope king would be nothing but good for both their peoples.)

The Sadida were not the only inhabitants of the Sadida Kingdom; a large population of Cra lived there as well. They were a people of archers, with impossibly keen eyesight, long lean builds like the bows they carried, and pale blonde coloring that reminded Loki of the elves of Alfheim. Princess Amalia’s close friend and former bodyguard was a young Cra woman called Evangelyne, who had temporarily stepped down from her post in order to tend to the late stages of her pregnancy. Evangelyne’s lover Sir Tristepin Percidal was a brash and reckless Iop, a warrior-knight who was uncannily like Thor in every way save that his hair was the color of flames and he was even less intelligent. At first as wary of Eva as she was of him, Loki had found a quick bond with her over the perpetual exasperations of men who thought with their weapons rather than their brains.

The last of Yugo’s shield companions was a reclusive, eccentric old Enutrof named Ruel Stroud. He was miserly and penny-pinching to an almost comical extreme, and Eva had confided to Loki that the best way to get him to do anything was to hint at the possibility of payment afterward. Still, the broad-headed shovel he carried with him at all times had been balanced for fighting, and Loki could see a litheness to the old man’s step that belied his crotchety demeanor. He would be formidable in a fight, if he was ever pushed enough to engage.

Yugo himself was fascinated both by Loki’s magic and Jahanna’s knowledge of an Eliatrope’s powers, and took readily to the lessons they offered. Loki and Jahanna soon developed a strategy whereby Loki provided the theoretical and contextual knowledge to explain the things that Eliatropes could do naturally, and Jahanna handled the practical demonstrations. Yugo was young enough yet that he learned quickly, and Loki found himself enjoying the time he spent with the boy. It was strange, pleasantly so, to not only be able to discuss magical theory at length with minds that could follow the concepts, but to do so without fear of being mocked or belittled or seen as lesser for his fascination. Magic in all its many permutations was common and widely accepted on the World of Twelve, and for Eliatropes it was as natural as breathing.

When the lessons spilled from practical magic to combat, the warrior Tristepin would join them – not so much out of a desire to learn magic, as the simple fact that if a fight was going on anywhere, Pinpin had to be in the middle of it. He really was too much like Thor for Loki’s comfort, foolhardy and overconfident and utterly reckless – but if Loki had to make a conscious effort to speak simply enough that Pinpin could understand for most matters, when it came to fighting and the ways of a warrior, Pinpin rivaled Sif and the Warriors Three. So Loki incorporated him into their combat lessons, as both an enemy and an ally, using his skills to drill Yugo in the subtleties of combat magic.

Evangelyne, too, joined them sometimes; though too pregnant to fight at close range, she could still shoot her bow with deadly accuracy. Loki was fascinated by the magic with which she could imbue her arrows, and with some persuasion he convinced her to lead a few impromptu lessons for all of them on how a Cra’s archery worked. Occasionally they could convince Ruel to participate as well – especially if Yugo bribed him with the promise of a gold coin afterwards – and Loki found that his original suspicions had been correct: Ruel was a formidable opponent, able to match even Loki shovel to scepter.

Loki took a different tack when working on Yugo’s understanding of how to run a kingdom. For all that Yugo knew, in theory, that he was king of the Eliatropes, Loki could see that the idea of _being_ king in practice terrified him. Yugo had been raised the son of an innkeeper in the peaceful nation of Amakna, with no idea until little more than a year ago that his life would encompass anything other than taking over the inn from Alibert and cooking delicious meals for his guests. Loki could sympathize; he himself had been raised knowing he might ( _would, should_ ) be king someday, yet he remembered clearly his own moment of terror when an Aesir councilor had knelt before him to offer Gungnir.

So Loki started small and careful. The Sadida princess Amalia, who according to Eva had long chafed against the restrictions imposed upon her by her royal status, had recently begun to take more of an interest in ruling. It was a simple enough matter for Loki to find opportunities to discuss with her, while Yugo happened to be nearby, King Sheran Sharm’s latest decision about trade with Bonta, or Prince Armand’s instructions for the Sadida army to shore up the defensive walls to the east. Amalia was surprisingly eager to get Loki’s perspective on matters of the nation, though he soon realized it was because she was using their discussions to arm herself for later conversations with her father and brother. Which in turn meant Loki had to be careful, to avoid the appearance that he was trying to use Amalia as a puppet to influence the movement of the Sadida Kingdom.

But managing people was a game he’d played since he was young, and it was one he greatly enjoyed. Jahanna sometimes gave him a knowing look, when he was getting too deep in his own manipulations – she always seemed to know what he was playing even if no one else caught it – but he wasn’t hurting anyone, and he liked to think that his careful hints and suggestions were improving life in the Sadida Kingdom. Soon Loki noticed that King Sheran Sharm was inviting him to more meetings that didn’t directly concern the Eliatropes, and even occasionally asking him outright for his opinion on Sadida matters. From there, it was only a small step to asking the king’s permission to allow Yugo to shadow them during the discussions, to further his education in the matters of ruling, and Yugo was eager enough to impress Amalia that he jumped at the chance.

So passed the first weeks of Loki’s residence in the World of Twelve: a whirlwind of meeting the players in the drama that would soon unfold as Yugo began to rebuild the Eliatrope people; of learning the differences between a Pandawa and an Ecaflip and why it was unwise to confuse them; of sorting out how the twelve peoples and the three nations governed themselves (no easy task, as it seemed mostly to consist of drinking tea and shouting); of meeting with Yugo and Jahanna and the dragons, with King Sheran Sharm and Alibert and the Bontarian ambassador Joris, to discuss what needed to happen to ensure the Eliatrope children would be cared for when they arrived from Emrub.

But there were times when it overwhelmed him, too many people in too small a space for hours on end, claustrophobic and unbearable after the emptiness of the void, too like the press of Chitauri laughing at his suffering. King Sheran Sharm’s booming voice would begin to sound like Odin’s, and Joris’s hoarse muttering turned into the hiss of the Other. Yugo’s childlike naïveté would hurt to hear, reawakening the pain born when Loki’s own such innocent beliefs had been shattered. The dragon Phaeris’s sudden quiet appearance at his elbow would be enough to set his heart racing, his body trembling, his breathing harsh and panicked.

And Jahanna’s gentle touch and calming magic were less and less able to soothe the memories of the void that ate at his mind like poison.

At first he could manage it, finding excuses to slip out of the room for a time to gather himself, and no one called him _weak_ or _cowardly_ , or even seemed to notice much. But as the weeks turned to months, the attacks only grew worse, more frequent; and it took longer each time to recover, to force back the memories and the pain, to pull together the broken pieces of his soul into a semblance of himself. Until finally, not quite four months after they’d arrived, Loki couldn’t stand it any longer.

It was the darkest part of the night when he slipped out of the airy treehouse apartment he shared with Jahanna. He hated to leave her like this, but he was afraid she’d try to stop him, or possibly come with him, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse. So he crept carefully past the woven-grass curtain that served as a door, onto the walkway connecting their apartment to the rest of the palace. Tikalukatal was nowhere in sight; though he sometimes slept in the room with them in the shape of an ermine, more often he spent his nights in the deep forest with Phaeris. Tonight was one of those nights, and Loki allowed himself to relax as he made his way down to the ground. The Sadida had guards who stood the night shift, but Loki had learned early on that if the guards bothered to stay awake at all, they were usually playing cards and oblivious to the world around them. He didn’t even have to use a veil to sneak past the pair ostensibly watching the palace gates, and after that it was a simple matter to vault the fence that marked the kingdom’s outer perimeter and steal away into the dark.

*             *             *

Loki walked for hours, aimless in the dark forest. He knew it was dangerous – had seen the monstrous arachnee slain by a group of Sadida hunters – but he had grown up traveling the Nine Realms, and if he couldn’t defend himself from wild beasts, he didn’t deserve to survive the encounter. His thoughts churned as he walked, mind chasing itself in circles to escape the void that lurked too close at the edge of awareness, the whispering voice of the Other that hissed, _no one cares, no one will even notice you’re gone, no one will ever bother to look for you._

It was stupid, and he knew it was stupid, and he tried to tell himself that of course they wouldn’t know he was gone; he had taken great pains to make sure no one would notice. But the voice ( _the Other_ ) slithered through his mind, gloating and smug and slicing open the wounds he tried desperately to hold closed. No one would care that he had left – they would be glad he was gone, glad that they no longer had to deal with Loki Liesmith, Loki the Weak, Loki the Useless who could do nothing but run and hide—

A shadow solidified in front of him, became Tikalukatal, wearing the shape of a man. His deep red skin blended into the darkness, but his wakfu-blue pupils glowed like twin stars. Loki froze, caught between guilt at being found running and relief ( _stupid, weak_ ) that someone had noticed his departure. Tikalukatal didn’t move, didn’t speak, waiting with the patience of eternity.

Loki’s hands opened and closed at his sides until finally he burst out, “Are you going to make me go back?”

“No,” Tikalukatal said.

“Jahanna—”

“She worries,” the dragon said, “but she will not interfere, if this is what you need.”

Loki swallowed hard. Looked away, and made his hands relax. “Yes,” he whispered. “It is.”

Tikalukatal nodded. He still held around him that stillness, that patience, and Loki searched his face for a moment, trying to understand. Finally Loki took a deep breath and released it, and with it the tension and the fear. Strode away into the forest, leaving Tikalukatal behind.

And as he walked, he sensed the dragon’s presence, following him, making sure he knew he would not have to be alone.

*             *             *

Time passed. Loki lost track of the days quickly, with naught to mark them but his own memory. It didn’t matter – he spent his time walking, traveling the forest or the open plains, skirting the villages and the smaller settlements that dotted the countryside. He wasn’t as good a woodsman as Thor, but he knew enough to keep himself fed and not wholly uncomfortable. Tikalukatal stayed near, rarely in sight but just close enough for Loki to be aware of him. His presence was a silent comfort, in a way that no other could have been. Dragons were primordial beings, and neither their minds nor their magic grated against Loki’s senses as another being’s would.

Sometimes Loki talked, not to Tikalukatal but to the empty air: spitting out the foul names he’d heard whispered in Asgard’s halls when no one thought he could hear; cursing those who’d spoken against him, who’d belittled and mocked and vilified him; reciting the hurts he wished on Sif and those like her, who hadn’t cared to see that he wanted nothing more than to be like them, strong and proud and golden and above all _loved_. Spewing all the filth that had stained his soul since he was young, since he’d first begun to realize he was different.

Sometimes he’d stand beneath the open sky and scream, scream and cry and rage at Thor, at Frigga, at Odin; at Thanos and the Other and hordes of nameless, faceless Chitauri, hatred and pain pouring out of him until he fell limp and exhausted to his knees. Tears on his cheeks and sometimes he’d lift a hand to find they had frozen, that he’d turned blue without realizing, and he’d scream at Laufey instead, for losing him, for leaving him behind, for not saving him.

Sometimes he would simply sit, hugging his knees to his chest, his eyes fixed on nothing at all for hours or even days, and only the gradual realization that his throat was raw with thirst would break through the fog into his awareness. Even then, it was hard to make himself move, hard to care that his body cried out for sustenance. He was nobody, a _nīðing_ , weak and useless and undeserving of the life that had been wasted on him when Odin had taken him from the altar in Jotunheim. No one would care if he died, wasting away here in the wilderness of a world the Nine Realms had never heard of. Only the realization that his rotting corpse would mar the pristine landscape could drive him to his feet once more.

When the poison in Loki’s mind threatened to drown him, Tikalukatal would appear in his dragon form, would encircle Loki with his massive foreclaws and shield him from the world. When Loki scrubbed his skin raw in a forest stream, trying to wash away the filth and the weakness that marked him _unworthy_. When he made the mistake of looking up at the starry night sky and the emptiness of the void swallowed him whole, soundlessness rushing to deafen him and vertigo making him choke. When he woke screaming from nightmares that were more memory than dream, struggling to fight off the ghosts of the Chitauri that held him down while a memory of the Other flayed his skin from his body with mocking care.

When he stood at the edge of a high rocky cliff, teetering a hair’s-breadth from falling. When he carved lines around the big veins in his wrists, watching the blood flow and wondering if he only cut deeper, whether he could finally bleed out the void that ran through his veins and tarnished him beyond all redemption.

Every time, Loki would come back to himself in the embrace of heat and scales and a low catlike rumble, a presence as steady as time and eternal as the universe.

A reminder that he hadn’t been abandoned.

That he wasn’t alone.

That he never had to be alone again.

*             *             *

Time passed. Loki walked, past tiny farms and grand cities, through forests and across high cliffs. He spoke less, the fountain of hatred and disgust finally running dry. Stopped less often to scream or to sit, and more often to admire a vista. The sun painting the horizon, brighter than anything in Asgard. The roll of hills, pale brown and swaying with Pandawas’ bamboo farms, or covered with Osamodas’ fluffy white gobball herds. The mounds of ruins shadowed by time, carved with symbols and faces from before Ogrest’s Chaos, which had plunged half the world underwater.

He woke less in the night, and when he did, the sprawling endless sky above him did not swallow him. The void still lurked at its edges, but it was only at the edges, where he could begin to ignore it. The abrasions on his skin where he’d tried to claw out the weakness healed, fading first to scars and then to nothingness, his skin pale and smooth once more. Sometimes he let himself turn blue, color bleeding over his palms before his eyes. He never stayed blue for long, but after a while it was not because he couldn’t bear to see it, but because the World of Twelve was far too warm for a Jotun’s comfort.

Tikalukatal appeared to him less frequently, and sometimes the only glimpse of him Loki would catch for days was a flash of blood-red wings soaring past overhead. He knew Tikalukatal still guarded him while he slept, but it was less and less often that Loki woke with nightmares, less and less that he needed the reminder that he was safe.

*             *             *

Time passed. Then, one beautiful afternoon, when the sun was just beginning to darken to red in the west, Loki stopped to look over a vast body of water and wished that Jahanna was with him so she could see the way the light turned the waves to flame.

He let the thought sit at the back of his mind for the rest of the night, and through the next day. He wanted Jahanna to be there with him, wanted to hold her close while they discussed magical theory. Wanted to tell Yugo and Amalia about the broad shallow inlet he’d found, isolated and idyllic, where the young Eliatropes could build a home. Wanted to discuss with Tristepin and Ruel the thoughts he’d had about teaching Yugo to work with his shield companions in combat. Wanted to laugh with Evangelyne over the way he’d scared himself silly a few days ago, when he’d spotted something he’d thought was a Svartalfheim grave viper – one of the deadliest creatures in the Nine Realms, whose bite could kill a giant in minutes and from which even Thor knew to flee – and how he’d been halfway up a sheer rock wall before he remembered that grave vipers didn’t inhabit the World of Twelve.

The following morning, he called for Tikalukatal. After a few minutes, a red-feathered bird of prey dove from the sky, becoming Tikalukatal in his man’s shape just above the ground. It was the first time he’d taken that form since Loki had left the Sadida Kingdom, and the expression on his face was knowing.

Loki said, “I’m ready to go home.”

*             *             *

Even flying on Tikalukatal’s broad red wings, it took them three days to return to the Sadida Kingdom. Riding on the dragon’s back, Loki used the time to meditate, quieting his mind as if he were preparing to work a difficult spell. He hadn’t been able to do it properly since Jotunheim, hadn’t been able to find the dark still center of himself without falling into the void that lurked at the edges of his mind. The void was still there, but he could ignore it now, knew the paths through his thoughts that were safe to travel.

He remembered the first time he’d taken Thor to Alfheim, showing him the unnatural route he’d found: a place where he could push reality aside like a curtain, could step off Asgard’s branch of the world tree and travel the uncharted emptiness between realms. They had been children still, and Thor had huddled close at Loki’s back. Loki had asked if Thor was scared, wanting to tease him, wanting to prove that for once it was Loki who was the brave one. Thor had denied it, of course, but Loki had seen the truth in his eyes, in the way he clutched Loki’s hand. When they arrived in Alfheim, Thor had refused to go back the same way, even though it meant Loki had had to let Heimdall find them, and Odin had punished them. Later, Thor told Loki that those dark places were not meant for men to walk, and while Loki had the balance and the will to tread the narrowest of safe paths through them, Thor did not.

Loki wondered what Thor would make of him now.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected upon his return. If he was learning to ignore the Other’s voice whispering _they won’t notice, they won’t care_ in the back of his thoughts, he also knew that it was the middle of the day and everyone was probably busy with meetings or training or tending to the minutia of life in the palace. But as Tikal circled down toward the tallest of the treetop plazas at the crown of the palace, twin blue lines flashed through the trees: Jahanna and Yugo, racing each other to the plaza. Laughter drifted up from further below and Loki leaned over Tikal’s side to see Evangelyne and Tristepin climbing up the more conventional walkways, with Amalia running ahead of them to shout something at Yugo.

Yugo waved wildly as Tikal swooped in to land, and Loki had lived with Jahanna for long enough to spot the flare of blue and open his arms to catch her as she leaped through a portal into his embrace. She hugged him tightly, and the last of a tension he hadn’t known he was holding eased. Jahanna drew back just enough to meet his eyes, one hand coming up to rest against his jaw. “Welcome home,” she whispered. Loki leaned in to kiss her in response (and ignored Yugo’s _blech_ and Amalia’s _aww_ ), holding her close and losing himself in the scent of her skin.

Tikal ruffled his wings and Loki remembered belatedly that they were still sitting on the dragon’s back. He lifted Jahanna down – not that she needed the help but Aesir court manners were hard to forget – then jumped down beside her. He had an instant to brace and then Yugo tackled him in a rough hug like Thor used to do, though since Yugo was half Loki’s size the embrace at least didn’t bowl him over. Across the terrace, Tristepin and Evangelyne had just crested the stairs, Tristepin calling a cheerful greeting. Eva cradled a small bundle in her arms and Loki remembered that her baby would have been due some time ago.

Yugo let go of him and Amalia grabbed his hand, tugging him toward Eva. “Come on,” she said. “You’ve got to see the baby, she’s _adorable_ , and Papa’s meeting with the Brakmarians but he wants you to stop by later—”

“Ami,” Eva interrupted, gently chiding, but she was smiling too. She stopped close enough that Loki could see a tiny hand poking out from the bundle in her arms, and he leaned in to look cautiously. The baby was asleep, but even so Loki could see her bright orange hair like Pinpin’s, her upturned nose like Eva’s.

“A Iop?” he asked, amused.

“Yes!” Pinpin crowed, puffing out his chest. “Just like her papa!”

Eva sighed theatrically. “Now I have two of them to deal with.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Loki said, and patted her on the shoulder in exaggerated sympathy.

Yugo bounced back into view, his voice cracking with excitement as he launched into a story of how he and Adamaї had defeated Tristepin, Evangelyne, and Ruel together on the training ground. Loki listened, making all the appropriate impressed noises, and Jahanna stepped close once more, sliding an arm around Loki’s waist. She was warm and solid and she’d come to meet him, she’d missed him. They had all missed him, Jahanna and Yugo and Amalia and Eva and Pinpin, and suddenly the whisper in the back of his mind, the Other’s insidious hiss, was that much quieter, that much easier to ignore.

It wasn’t gone – would never be gone completely – but he had other voices to listen to, now. People who cared about him, who wanted to be near him. People who called themselves his friends and meant it, who had waited for him even when he’d fled.

People who thought he was worthy.

A smile tugged at Loki’s mouth as he followed a still-chattering Yugo across the terrace toward the stairs, Jahanna at his side and Tikalukatal at his back, and Eva and Pinpin and Amalia close by. He might never be wholly rid of the void, but he had friends to help him keep it at bay.

He would never have to be alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from dealing with Loki's trauma, this is the series' "Wakfu 101" installment. I know Wakfu's new to a lot of you, and I hope it wasn't too overbearing. If you're curious about the show and want more information, [the Brotherhood of Tofu](http://brotherhoodoftofuv2.tumblr.com/) is a good place to start. Alternately you can check out the MMO - the class images of the appropriate genders for Sadidas, Cras, Iops, and Enutrofs are slightly-tweaked versions of the cartoon's characters. 
> 
> Part 4 begins next week: _I Reach Out My Hand (and hope you take it)_. Stay tuned!


End file.
